Hazard Lights
by fortysix
Summary: There's something strange about her, something he can't figure out. But he likes it. Set in the earlier years between the brothers. (R/R so that I know if this is something people are interested in).


"You know, I don't usually do this."

Dean's lips are already trailing along her neck, his fingers unbuttoning her blouse with ease. "No? That's good. Too much of a good thing can be bad, right?"

She wants to laugh, to say something witty in return, but he's kissing her chest and suddenly she's closing her eyes and he's laying her down gently on to the bed.

"My name's Hannah, by the way."

Somehow, her underwear has been pulled (or ripped, she's not even sure) off her body and he's kissing her on the lips now, making it harder for her to even breathe.

"I'm Dean." He says, managing to grin at her before going right back to what he does best, apparently. Every touch of his skin against hers is making her crazy. She can't help thinking that this isn't her, that this is dangerous. He could be a killer or something worse...

But the way he's moving against her now is pushing those thoughts to the back of her mind as her eyes close and her mouth once again finds his.

She falls asleep. Blame the liquor or the really good sex, but she's passed out in this king size motel bed with some guy's arm tightly wrapped around her.

His name is Dean. That's all she knows.

The alcohol is still in her system, making the room spin when she opens her eyes. She doesn't remember getting here. There was the bar, she remembers that. And then? He came up to her, didn't he? She liked him. He reminded her of some FBI agent, someone of importance.

She turns now to look at him. His eyes are closed, but she remembers that they were green. His hair is short, cut into something she has a strong desire to run her fingers through. His features are delicate but he still has that strong jaw line and those lips that kiss so well. She smiles, placing her hand on his chest. He's strong. It's the kind of strong that comes from hard work instead of days spent at the gym. His muscles seem formed by labour, a trade perhaps. Yet he was wearing a suit at the bar, one that was tailored to fit him perfectly. What kind of tradesmen goes out to some dingy town's bar dressed that well?

Suddenly, something in her stomach makes her sit up. There's a feeling inside that makes her feel uneasy. Then, she sees it. On the left side of her chest, where she had just been laying against, lies a tattoo in black ink depicting an image she knows very well.

"You've got to be kidding me."

She gets out of the bed, taking three or four steps away from him. Even in her still intoxicated mind, she's able to put the pieces together. It's him, instead it? Dean Winchester. Hunter extraordinaire.

She just slept with a hunter.

Stumbling around the room, she tries desperately to find her clothes. There's no sign of her bra so she settles on just the black t-shirt and jeans. Her heels are at the door and her purse is sitting at the base of the bed. Her 9mm is peeking out from the red bag and she grabs it quickly, slinging the purse over her shoulder and standing with her feet shoulder width apart. She clicks off the safety and Dean slowly opens his eyes.

"Wh-WHOA WAIT A SECOND!" He moves backwards in the bed quickly, arms in the air, eyes wide as can be.

"Get the fuck out."

His chest is rising and falling rapidly. "Now, hold on! I'm not going to hurt you. Look, I'm completely unarmed." He indicates his empty hands but she doesn't move.

She puts her finger on the trigger. "You've got thirty seconds to get out of this motel room or I'm going to shoot that little anti-possession tattoo right off your chest."

He raises his eyebrows and then frowns. "How do you know about-"

"Twenty eight, twenty seven, twenty six..."

"You're a hunter, aren't you?"

She stops counting, his words catching her off guard. "Irrelevant." She manages to spit out, "Now, if you don't-"

"I'm Dean." He says, and the way he says it is almost as if to provide her comfort. "Dean Winchester. I'm one of the good guys."

She feels her heart start to beat faster. "I know who you are and unfortunately for you, it doesn't matter! Now, I'm asking nicely. _Please, _get out of my room!"

He looks confused and she's starting to shake, which is affecting her grip on the gun. "Please. I don't want to shoot you but I will."

He's not dumb enough to wait and find out if she will or not so he gets out of the bed slowly, reaching to grab his boxers from the floor.

"Don't." She says, her gun still aiming at his heart. "Go outside. I'll toss them to you when you're outside."

He raises his eyebrows. "You're kidding, right?"

She says nothing. He sighs and straightens up, walking to the door which he opens slowly and takes a step out.

"Go against the railing."

He does, covering himself with his hands.

She slams the door behind her and bolts it shut, closing her eyes and hearing the pounding of her heart in her head. She waits about fifteen seconds and then finds his boxers, pants, t-shirt and jacket on the floor. Checking the pockets, she finds a cell phone, keys, and a gun that's similar to her own. She removes the bullets and places them on the desk beside her. Then, she carefully reopens the door and tosses his things into his arms before sliding the gun to his feet.

"What about my-"

She slams the door again and slides the lock into place. This is not happening right now. This cannot be happening! She presses her ear against the door and hears nothing so she looks through the peep-hole and watches as he pulls on his boxers and then sighs, squinting at the brightly lit environment that he was thrust into. He rubs at his eyes and yawns and she almost feels a bit guilty-almost.

She should have known he was a hunter. How did she miss that tattoo? And a Winchester of all people! She should have been able to tell, to realize who he was. But, then again, she'd never actually seen a photo of him. There had been only stories and gossip. She sits down on the bed and buries her face in her hands. She just fucked Dean Winchester. And she had enjoyed it.

God dammit.

Twenty minutes later, she's picked up her items from the motel room and splashed some water on her face. She still hasn't found her underwear but she's given up, more focused on getting out of here than worrying about a pair of silk panties. Unlocking the door, she then opens it and steps outside into the sunny morning that greets her like an enemy.

"Hey."

She raises her eyebrows and fumbles for her gun. Standing across the parking lot, now wearing all his clothes, is Dean looking completely composed.

"What the hell are you still doing here?" She scowls, both angry and tired at the same time.

"Whoa, easy." Now his face changes and he raises his hands in the air again, cocking his head to the side, "Look, I'm not going to hurt you. Why the hell would I hurt another hunter?"

Her hand is still sitting on her gun that rests in the back of her jeans but she doesn't move it yet. "Because-listen, I don't want to do this right now. Just let me get out of here without an explanation."

He suddenly smirks at her, leaning against that pretty black car and putting his hands down and across his chest. "You still haven't answered my question. Why would I be interested in hurting you?"

She finally lets her hand drop from her gun and adjusts her purse on her shoulder. "I don't have time for this. Could you just forget this ever happened? I'm already on my way to doing the same."

He raises his eyebrows and shrugs his shoulders, "Well, technically, I've already forgotten a good portion of it thanks to our friend Mr. Jack Daniels but the rest is still pretty clear, especially that part about being shoved out of my motel room without any clothes."

"_Your _motel room?" She says and slowly turns around, facing a big sign that confirms this isn't Jerry's Inn. "I-"

"So, that by itself is pretty damn memorable. And, of course, your name rings a bell."

"My _name?_" She feels sick now and her head starts to spin again. Being hungover and dealing with this is not something she wants to do right now.

"Yeah," he continues, as though this happens on a routine basis and has no effect on him. "Your name. Hannah Reid. You bought a car from Bobby Singer three summers ago. Don't you remember?"

Now, she could very easily close her eyes and throw up. Of course she remembers. Singer was incredible to her, making sure she got a good vehicle without emptying her bank account. She hadn't heard from him in a long time, now that she thinks about it. "How do you know that?" She asks, her tone accusing.

"Probably for the same reason you know about me. We're hunters. We're in this special club, you could say.

She wishes she could grab onto something but her hands only grasp at the air. "No. There's no club. I bought a car from Singer because I heard he's a good guy. I know about _you _because of all the shit you've pulled in your eventful career!" She breathes in deeply, and starts walking determinedly out of the parking lot.

"Where the hell are you going?" He calls after her.

"Good question." She mutters under her breath and pulls out a pair of sunglasses from her purse to block out the light. She wishes she would have stayed in the motel room.

"Look," he's caught up to her, walking backwards in front of her so that she can't avoid him."I'll drive you back to the bar, you can get your car and head home. Sound good?"

"I'm not taking a ride from you." She sidesteps him and starts walking on the shoulder of the highway, holding out her thumb and staring at the oncoming traffic.

"Hey, c'mon. You'd rather take a ride from a stranger than with me?"

This makes her look him dead in the eyes. "You're as much as a stranger as they are. Now screw off, or I swear to god you'll wish we never met."

He stops and lets her keep walking down the side of the highway. Her dark hair blows in the wind, messy from last night.

"You know," he calls out, causing her to turn around, "You saw me naked. That counts for something, doesn't it?"

She stops in her tracks and slightly alters her hand gesture to a much more offensive one before turning back around and holding up her thumb once more.

Thirty feet back, Dean's grinning.

He gets back in the Impala and watches her walk for a while. After a few minutes, she drops her hand and visibly sighs, slowing her pace. He turns on the car and backs out of the parking lot.

"So, how about a ride?"

He has the windows down, a smile on his face, and the hazard lights on as he crawls down the interstate around five miles an hour.

"Go away, Dean."

"You remembered my name!" He nearly sings, glancing quickly at the road in front of him and then back to her, "Good. Now, c'mon. I'll give you a ride."

"No."

Though it isn't a particularly busy highway, several cars are now stuck behind him. They honk but he ignores it, keeping his eyes on her.

"C'mon, it'll be a three minute car ride. I won't even talk to you. Just come on in, get your cell phone back and-"

She stops and looks at him, "You took my phone?"

"It fell out when we were making out in the backseat."

"YOU TOOK MY PHONE?"

His grin starts to fade as the look on her face grows angrier by the second. Then, very suddenly, she rolls her eyes and gets in the car.

"Drive."

He smirks, facing the road and flooring it. It takes only a couple of minutes before they're at the bar and she's glaring at him.

"Where's my phone?"

"Exactly where you left it."

She scowls and looks in the backseat but doesn't see anything. "Dean-if you don't-"

He interrupts her. "Check your purse."

She raises her eyebrows and opens up her bag, slowly pulling out the little black device. She can feel the color rising in her cheeks.

"Your keys, on the other hand, are right here." Dean removes them from his jacket pocket. "You made me promise that I wouldn't let you drive before you slipped these into my coat."

She takes them with less malice than she intended to and then slowly gets out of the car.

"Maybe I'll see you around?"

"Don't count on it."

He smiles at her but she's still staring back with a frown on her face. "Do you want my number at least?"

The slightest hint of a smile almost appears before she turns without a word, headed toward her motel room.

"You're welcome!" He calls out to her but she doesn't reply, as expected, and he leaves the parking lot without another word.

He can't exactly place this feeling, but he know he likes it. The drive back to the motel leaves him with that stupid grin on his face and a feeling of lightness in his body. She's different but he's into different. Different is good.


End file.
